Fever Dreams
by Living Dead Girl 07
Summary: When Zevran falls ill on the road, he relives a moment of his training.


None of them had ever really paid much mind to Zevran's, somewhat sarcastic, complaints about the cold weather of Ferelden. Nor had any of them thought much of it when he had developed a slight sniffle on their way back from Orzamar. After all, emerging from such a warm place to the icy cold of the Frostbacks in winter had given most of them a slight head cold. Nothing to worry about. It never occurred to any of them that Zevran had never been somewhere so cold and wet before, and, consequentially, never had a cold before. His body had no defense for it. It was an oversight they were all regretting now, but probably none more so than Fi Tabris.

Fi paced back and forth in the small hallway outside Zevran's room in this pathetic little excuse for an inn that they had, luckily, found on the downward journey, waiting anxiously for Wynne to emerge. They had all been shocked when Zev had simply collapsed three days after leaving Orzamar. Fi had thought he seemed a bit...off, but he had shrugged off her concerns, smiling that infuriating little smirk of his and telling her that he "had never been better." She felt like a total ass. While it was true, they weren't in any sort of committed relationship, she still felt as if she should have known, should have pressed the issue. But, no, she kept right on falling for that mask he wore right up until he lost consciousness.

She was brought out of her mental scolding by Wynne's emergence from Zev's room. She practically pounced on the mage in her eagerness for news. "Well, how is he? Is he ok? What happened?"

Wynne held up her hands to fend off further questions. "He is, for now. His fever is still high, but manageable. I have done all I can. He's sleeping now, but you may see him, if you wish."

Fi practically knocked the older woman down in her rush to get inside, a fact she would feel guilty about later. Shutting the door behind her, she quickly strode over to the bed where Zevran lay. He looked so...so different from his normal appearance. He looked...almost fragile, pale and sweaty with his hair slicked back and bundled up in blankets.

"Oh, my poor Zev," she whispered, stroking his hair.

It wasn't until later that night, when his restless stirring woke her from the doze she had slipped into, that Zevran's fever began to rise. She had tried to soothe him, murmured soft words and stroked his hair, but his movements had only grown more frantic. He began clawing at the blankets, kicking and yelling and thrashing about. Fi practically flew to the door, nearly wrenching it off the hinges in her haste to open it, and ran to Wynne's room. She pounded frantically on the door.

"Wynne? WYNNE!"

The door opened abruptly, Wynne standing on the other side with her staff in hand.

"What is it? What's happening?" The others had started to come out of their rooms, in various states of undress, brandishing their weapons.

Fi began gesturing towards Zevran's room. "It's Zev! I don't know what's wrong! He's yelling and thrashing on the bed and he won't wake up!"

Wynne went almost instantly into healer mode, grabbing her bag of various poultices and potions before barking a "Come quickly" at Alistair. The rest of their party silently returned to their rooms with minimal grumblings. Fi didn't even hear them.

In the time Fi had been gone, Zevran had fallen off the bed, tangling himself further in the blankets. He still writhed on the floor, a weak chorus of protest coming from his mouth.

"no...no-please no. let me out. let me out-no."

"Hold him," Wynne directed at a shocked Alistair, who pinned the elf's shoulders to the floor. Wynne was already pulling out various potions that Fi couldn't name. Arms immobilized, Zevran's legs seemed to work overtime to escape his invisible attacker. "Fi, grab his legs! I can't hold him much longer!"

Fi had to practically sit on Zevran's legs to hold them still, but it was enough for Wynne to tip his head back and start shoving potions down his throat. As the sleeping draught did its job, Zevran's movements slowed and stilled. Alistair and Fi hoisted Zevran back up onto the bed, arranging him semi-comfortably and covering him back up.

Wynne looked exhausted. "His fever has risen. I have done what I can to bring it down, but magic can only do so much. We must wait, and pray. What happens next is out of our hands.

* * *

><p><em>"You have to be ready for anything," his Crow master had told him. "Any form of pain or pleasure, torture or fear."<em>

_Zevran had thought he could handle anything they threw at him. He was no stranger to pain and suffering, after all, but he seriously underestimated the Crows' ability to find the one thing that frightens you above all else._

_He awoke with his head feeling as though it were stuffed with cotton; or lead, he hadn't decided which yet. The air felt close and his limbs were heavy. They must have slipped him something in his food again, to test his endurance. He blearily cracked one eye open, trying to take stock of his surroundings. It was dark, that was the first thing he noticed. It was horribly dark, and there was something very close to his face. He raised his hand to swipe it away, but could not reach his face. His hand hit something solid on its way up._

_He was fully awake now. Breath starting to come in short pants, he tried to move his legs. They, too, met with hard wood. There was scant room between him and whatever this barrier was, but he managed to carefully bring his hands up near his face. He felt along the surface of the barrier, definitely panicking by this point. The was no break, no crack in the smooth surface. His fingers caught the edge of whatever it was in front of his face. It was round and hollow, and he could feel air gently blowing through it._

_He hit his head when a voice called to him from the other side of the tube. "Ah, Zevran! Are you awake?" came the lilting tones of his master. A strangled cry escaped Zevran's lips before he could catch himself. He heard a laugh. "It seems you are! Here comes your first true test! You will be staying here for the day! In your pocket you will find a water-skin; I don't imagine you'll feel much like eating! Bye-bye, whoreson!"_

_Zevran thought his heart would explode in his chest. He screamed out what little air he could force into his lungs and began beating and clawing at the wood in front of him. "No! NO PLEASE NO! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT! NO!"_

* * *

><p>For days, Fi never left his side, bathing his face in cool water and helping Wynne force down what medicine and liquids they could. Zevran slept fitfully, often babbling nonsense; he called for Rinna a few times. He asked for Fi more. Probably the most disturbing moments, however, were the times he was somewhat awake. Zev didn't seem to understand why he was abed, once even going so far as to push Fi to the floor in his haste to escape the confines of the room. Maker bless Alistair.<p>

Finally, after five long days, Wynne began to get his fever under control. On the ninth day, Zevran awoke.  
>He was dreadfully hot, but found his arms simply too heavy to cast the blankets from himself. Zevran settled for shifting around on the bed until the blankets fell off. He noticed a clinking sound to his right, and he turned his head to see Wynne preparing some sort of potion. She must have felt his gaze upon her, for she looked up in the next moment. She gently set down the mortar and pestle she was using and walked over him. He saw the small cup in her hand, and suddenly realized how thirsty he was.<p>

Wynne set the cup down on the bedside table and helped pull him into an almost-seated position. 'She's deceptively strong for her age,' Zevran thought. He was trying to focus on something other than the fact that he was too weak to even sit up on his own. Wynne sat beside him on the bed and looped an arm behind him to help support his head as he drank deeply from the cup she held before his mouth. He was mortified; he had never felt so much like a small, stupid child. He cast his mind about for something else to think of, and settled on a more pleasant topic.

"Fi?"

Wynne gestured to the floor on the other side of the bed. Straining, Zevran could barely see the edge of a bed roll holding a lumpy mass with bright red hair peeking out of the top. Wynne settled him back against the pillows.

"She never left your side for a minute," she said. If he looked as shocked as he felt, Wynne didn't remark. Instead, she knelt down next the Fi and gently shook her awake. Fi sat up, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine. He's a wake." That got fi moving. She scrambled out of the bed roll, cursing as her feet tangled in the blankets. She was by his side an instant later. Fi traced a cool hand over his brow and down his cheek, following the path of his tattoos. The door clicked softly as Wynne left. Fi was smiling at him. "Hi," she breathed. "It's good to see you awake. You had us quite worried."

He had the decency to look sheepish for a moment. "I am sorry, my warden." Maker, his voice was raspy. He swallowed. "It was not my intention to worry you."

She sighed, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "It's alright, my little bird. What matters is that you're ok now. But next time, tell me you're feeling ill before you fall over. I can't help if I don't know there's a problem." She sighed again.

He looked closely at her face, seeing how haggard she looked for the first time. Her skin was pale, her lips wan, and there were dark bags under her eyes; all because of him.

"How long?" he asked

"Nine days in the inn, nearly eleven since you… fell. We were lucky to find the inn when we did. If we hadn't…well I don't know what we would've done." It was hard for him to feel guilt with her hand stroking his hair so gently.

"Can we afford such a thing?" Zevran hoped he hadn't completely depleted their meager resources with his weakness.

"We've been doing jobs in the tavern downstairs in exchange for room and board. Alistair, Sten, and Oghren have been keeping an eye on some of the more rowdy patrons; Morrigan's been helping Wynne in the kitchen—no one's been poisoned yet, surprisingly—and Leliana entertains the guests at night."

"Mmmmm….." His eyes were drifting closed, the soft repetition of her hand lulling him into a doze. "And you, my warden?"

"I stayed with you, of course."

He didn't know how to respond to that, but apparently Fi deemed response unnecessary. Zevran felt her settle herself on the bed next to him and the gentle pressure of a soft kiss upon his brow.

"Sleep now, my little bird," and how could he resist such a softly spoken command?


End file.
